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The noise is ferocious. Even laying prone a hundred paces south of the town, Alberico feels his eyeballs tremble in the wake of each thunderous detonation. Houses constructed from fragile timber and brittle stone collapse and ignite, throwing burning debris into the smoke-filled sky. Almost all of the major landmarks his regiment had passed by a few days ago - the church, the tavern, the cavernous grain-stores - had been razed to the ground during the opening salvo. Now, as another pair of explosions bloom inside the residential district, he suspects that the rest of the town would soon follow.
On a professional level, he has no problem with this. Every villager vaporized by an artillery shell was an enemy that his men wouldn't have to fight eye-to eye. Every house reduced into smouldering rubble was another cover point denied to a tenacious foe. Viewing a battle in such terms was a virtue for any decent mercenary captain. But on a personal level, he balks at how quickly the situation was escalating. While Alberico could not claim to understand the inner workings of UNIT-07's mind, the machine-intelligence was fundamentally rational: it made decisions based on a logical assessment of the situation-at-hand. The intensity of the current assault suggested that they were dealing with a threat that actually warranted this level of force.
The nature of this threat becomes more apparent as the dust blocking his view begins to clear. From the north, he sees three war engines trundle towards his position, kicking up clods of dirt and plant matter as they carve tracks through the intervening farmland. With a now-familiar degree of synchronization, they traverse right and fire off a massive volley of grapeshot into the air, swatting down one of the combat drones zipping through the treeline.
His men respond before he can give an order. A spotter in each squad lines up their handheld laser designation device. After practicing on simulated vehicle targets for several days, squeezing a relatively slow walker into their targeting box is almost trivial for them them. A pair of sharp confirmation-clicks sound over the comm after Liscia launches both of her ATGMs. The missiles loft themselves upwards after firing, moving in a high, arcing trajectory before engaging in a terminal dive. In the next few seconds, at least two of the mechs would be burning scrap.
